“Master Otto requests your presence in his study, Mistress Valette.” The servant passed the tray to Ronin.
“Immediately.”
The servant rappedon the door to Otto’s study, and Mireille straightened her shoulders and donned her mask. The aloof one she’d abandoned so many times this week.
With Ronin Matakos, of all people.
“Enter.” Otto’s voice slithered into the dim hallway before the servant pushed the door open, encouraging Mireille to step inside.
Seated behind his desk, that leather ledger open before him, sunlight sparkled around Otto’s edges, shadows casting him in silhouette.
Beside him, Nostrata Otto dozed in an indigo chair, her snake-head cane leaning against the armrest. The ancient female appeared far less regal this morning, dressed in a plain white nightgown and shawl. She startled awake when the door snicked shut, loosing a series of hacking coughs.
The harsh morning sun was not kind to the old Deathstalker, her fragility more apparent than it had been in the dark ballroom last night. She seemed entirely drained. How many more trips to the Halfway could she manage?
Otto stood, his silky, poppy-patterned dressing gown billowing around him, and Mireille settled into a chair. An expectant smile curved his lips. “Good morning. May we offeryou something to eat or drink? We apologize for asking you to skip breakfast, but after Nostrata and I discussed your vision, we thought it imperative we speak with you as soon as possible.”
Mireille glanced around the room, not seeing a breakfast tray anywhere, wondering where Otto would conjure his offer from. Then realized he likely expected her to refuse it.
Was he so sure of all her answers this morning? It unsettled her. All this information he was withholding.
She decided to throw him off.
“Thank you, Jurgev.” She purred his name, a lover’s caress. “I’d love some coffee.”
Otto frowned, then barked for another servant to have a carafe brought up before turning back to Mireille. “Far be it for us to deny the wishes of our most honored guest.”
Mireille was so sick of his slimy confidence, his certainty that the Fae he’d lured here were mere puppets dancing on his tangled strings.
She’d never been able to stomach bullies, even as she recognized that she herself often was one. Perhaps that was why Otto bothered her so much. She saw too much of herself within his careful lies and constant scheming.
They waited in silence until the servant bustled in with a carafe of coffee, three mugs, and a basket of honey-soaked pastries.
Mireille took her time indulging in the spread, relishing Otto’s obvious impatience. She stirred sugar and cream into her coffee, then sipped it slowly between bites of the flaky, sweet pastry. When she was finished, she licked the sticky glaze from her fingertips, and Otto’s forked tongue darted erratically as her mouth held him in rapt attention.
She pushed her cup and plate aside, then folded her hands atop the desk. “Why am I here?”
Otto cocked his head, as if trying to decipher what she meant byhere.Here in this office? Here at the estate? Perhaps even here on Ethyrios. “Therein lies the question. Do you remember what we said to you all during the arrival party?”
“You said many things during that speech. That we’re all living in delusion. That our hearts and minds would be forever changed by our experiences with you.”
“We did say that, didn’t we?” Otto flicked through the ledger, and adrenaline scorched through her veins as she saw what page he’d landed on. The one with her own family tree. And in place of the question mark, Otto had scrawled a star. The ink gleamed, still wet. “Have your heart and mind been changed yet, Mireille?”
Her thoughts instantly turned to Ronin. To the feel of his teeth on her neck, his hand fisting her hair, his powerful body beneath her. To his tears and vulnerable confessions. To his laughter and teasing over a trivial game of strategy.
And to waking up this morning to his citrus and pine scent after the most restful sleep she’d had in centuries.
How much could Otto read on her face? Her impervious mask was cracking, her efforts to hide her true feelings disintegrating.
Mireille wrangled herself under control. “That would be quite a feat for you to pull off after only four days, wouldn’t it?”
Otto leaned over the desk, propping his chin on interlaced fingers. There was dirt caked into the beds of his normally pristine fingernails. “It has happened in less time than that before, we assure you.”
Mireille’s mind strayed to Mattias Bisere, to his sister Larissa and the strange dream he’d had after she’d disappeared. Mireille wanted to probe, see what she could get Otto to reveal, but couldn’t quite conjure an angle to get there without exposing her own deceptions.
“We also mentioned stories, if you’ll recall,” Otto crooned. “So many stories, told by so many different groups of people. What stories have you been tellingyourself?” She sat up straighter, her eyes involuntarily darting to the ledger page dimpled by Otto’s elbows. “Have you figured out the meaning of your message from the souls last night? Figured out who that cloaked figure was, pounding on the door of your cabin,desperateto reach you?”
Cold fear sluiced through Mireille’s limbs, sweat slicking her palms as she raised her chin. “It was my father. Obviously.”
